Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

call it chaos squared. The height of panic coupled with full-on desperation. And the screaming wasn’t helping.
    “Please, angel…I need you to settle down. Please, baby.” The begging came with tears. Myst sang through them, each note of the lullaby strained, the words hiccupping on each breath. Small face red with anger, he paused. She shifted him a little, patted his bottom, started the chorus of “Rock-a-bye Baby” over again. The new motion moved his wail from ear piercing to pitiful whimper. “There’s my good boy. You’re all right. We’re fine.”
    He seemed to accept that—thank God. She couldn’t have handled much more of his crying without pulling over. And on the side of the road wasn’t the place she wanted to be. Not right now. Not when she was so close to Sal’s. Five more minutes and she’d be around the bend and on the straightaway.
    The restaurant sat at the end of that stretch. Much like mushrooms in the middle of a forest, nothing could kill it. Although Sal was long dead, the place was third-generation. A greasy spoon with deep roots; a hanger-on that clung to the little patch of dirt beside the narrow, two-lane highway. Cops liked it there, stopping for coffee and artery-clogging takeout while on patrol. Though what needed patrolling out here, Myst didn’t know. At least, she hadn’t known. Until tonight.
    “Please let one of them be there.” She sang the words, interjecting them into the lullaby. Her angel didn’t mind the change in lyrics. With one last snuffle, he tucked his fists beneath his chin and nestled in, her heartbeat a throbbing mess against his cheek.
    The road dipped and swung right. Myst slowed down to make sure she stayed on the road. The S-curve wasn’t called “Dead Man’s Gully” for nothing. The locals called it “unfriendly.” Myst didn’t think that was quite the right adjective to describe it.
    Metal guardrails hugging the asphalt, the shoulder of the road took a nosedive on the left, sloping into a ravine. Worse than that? The sheer cliff on the right-hand side. The rock monstrosity walled her in, moonlight gleaming off its face, casting shadows, making Myst search for hidden monsters waiting in ambush.
    Man, she hated driving this stretch. There was something creepy about it, even in daylight.
    Coming out of the first curve and into the second, she forced herself to breathe. Just a bit further. Thirty seconds, maybe forty, and she’d be out the other end, Sal’s exterior lights flickering in the distance. She flexed her fingers around the steering wheel. God, her hand hurt. But then, so did everything else. Her back muscles were in knots. Her legs were cramping. And her head? The ache was so bad her entire skull throbbed.
    The headlights flashed off the rail, reaching out into the valley beyond the thin, metal barrier. Myst wanted the railing to hurry up, to slingshot her out the other end and let her go. The pressure inside her head was building, the buzz between her ears growing louder with each relentless turn of the tires. And the vibration—
    Myst sat up a little straighter and listened hard. With the radio off, she could hear the rasp of her own breathing. The tires hummed on the asphalt as a strange stillness descended, surrounding her until she floated inside it. Her stomach dipped as a sinking feeling took over.
    Oh, man. She hadn’t outrun them at all. Bastian was out there…somewhere.
    But…where?
    She wasn’t sure exactly. Her newfound dragon radar might be up and running, but the thing wasn’t doing more than raising the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. Too bad. She could have used the accuracy. Knowing which way to go—how to react—would have been a godsend.
    Without turning her head, Myst glanced toward the driver-side window. She didn’t want to tip Bastian off if he was watching her. All she needed was another ten seconds to clear the last curve and gun it for Sal’s. If she played her hand now—let him know she knew he was there—he might knock her off the road and into the ravine before she hit the straightaway.
    A death grip on the wheel, she stared out the windshield into the darkness, but kept her peripheral vision sharp. If he surfaced, made his move, she would—
    Something scraped the roof of her car. A second later, the tip of a dark wing came into view, dipping low over the driver’s side. Metal groaned, then buckled, giving way beneath razor-sharp claws. With an “Oh shit,” Myst ducked and,